


A Man Who Keeps His Word

by LifeInkognito



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Season 2 Episode 8 Prediction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28049124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeInkognito/pseuds/LifeInkognito
Summary: “I’m coming, buddy,” he whispers. “Wherever you go, I go.”***Din Djarin reflects on what it means to have removed his helmet. Then he hunts down the man who took his child from him.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin
Comments: 36
Kudos: 261





	A Man Who Keeps His Word

Din examines his reflection—his dark eyes and long nose, lips pressed thin, hair damp and curling—warped by the curved metal of his beskar helmet. He might as well be staring at a stranger. 

He thought he knew who he was: a man who kept his word. Once, he swore an oath, and he had always stayed true to it. He believed in the ways of the Tribe. He would have gladly laid down his life before betraying those ideals.

And yet, as Din stares into the eyes of the man who so easily forsook his code, his people, his faith . . . he can not find shame in them. He did what had to be done. And he would do it again, undoubtedly, if it brought him closer to finding the kid.

It shocks him, how far he is willing to go. How many rules he will not hesitate to break. 

By creed, he is now a traitor. He has no claim to this beskar anymore. He should abandon the armor, go back to Slave I’s cockpit and show his allies what he truly is: soft, vulnerable, a broken thing with no more defenses.

But he’s already crossed his most hallowed line. What’s one more sin?

He slips the helmet back over his head, ignoring how the fit feels tighter, the weight more cumbersome than he remembers. He may have broken his creed, but he would not abandon the child.

“I’m coming, buddy,” he whispers. “Wherever you go, I go.”

***

“Din Djarin,” Moff Gideon announces, almost gleefully. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Outside the cell, Din hears the blasts of lasers, shouts and explosions. Good. It means his allies are still alive. 

Behind Gideon he catches sight of the kid. He’s lying on his side, face turned away from him, big ears drooped. He’s not moving. Din’s breath hitches.

“Whatever you think it's worth,” Gideon drawls, “I assure you, the price is higher. You don’t have the faintest idea of its value. What we can use it to achieve.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Din sneers. His hand grasps at his holster for his blaster, but it’s not there, lost in the battle on the main deck.

Gideon smirks. “I find that unlikely.” He reaches toward his own belt and withdraws a cylinder of metal. From one end, a blade emerges, somehow pitch black and blindingly bright at one. It flickers at the edges, seems to pulse like a black hole. Din winces at the high-pitched buzz it emits. 

“Do you know your history, Din Djarin?” the Moff says, taking a step closer and holding the weapon aloft. “The Darksaber was forged by the ancient foes of Mandalore as a symbol of unity. And yet its blade has slain thousands of Mandalorians and Jedi alike.”

Din averts his eyes from the blazing light, back to Grogu, who still hasn’t so much as twitched. He can’t tell if the kid’s breathing.

“Even the strongest bonds,” Gideon takes another daring step, “do not last. We never change. We are violent creatures, Din Djarin. I would have expected you to know this better than most.” 

“You don’t know anything about me. Or him.”

“I doubt that very much.”

And then the first swing comes. Instinctively, Din lifts his arms to protect his face. The blade screeches against his gauntlets, creates sparks. But it does not pierce the beskar.

Gideon’s eyes widen. He lets out a startled huff of air that’s almost a laugh. He pulls the blade back. “Beskar,” he gasps. “So the myths are true.”

 _Beskar_ , Din thinks. He reaches behind him and brings out the spear he’d strapped to his back. 

Gideon swings again, and this time Din parries, uses the spear to divert the blade from its mark. Gideon is not a skilled swordsman, but his weapon’s power more than compensates. Din is all too aware of the gaps in his armor, the soft spaces where he is vulnerable. All it will take is one hit.

Their fight is fierce and messy. Gideon puts all his weight into his attacks, screaming, spitting, aiming at Din’s weak spots. Din can only defend himself from the strikes, intercept the blade mere inches away from his skin. 

Then he catches the saber against the spear and pushes back, staggering Gideon. For a moment they are both caught together, weapons connected between them in an x. Gideon’s face glows savagely beneath the blade’s dark glare. 

“Muh?” 

Din falters. _The kid._ His gaze slips, just for a moment, to where Grogu is lying behind them. His little head is lifted toward him. Their eyes connect.

It’s a mistake. Gideon uses the distraction, kicks his leg out and knocks Din off balance. Din crashes to the ground, lifting the spear just in time to protect his neck from a fatal blow.

“We’ve already won!” Gideon lifts the blade and brings it down again like an executioner’s axe. It takes all of Din’s strength to hold the spear high enough to protect himself. The beskar hisses from the heat. “Our experiments are a success!”

Another heavy strike. The force is too much for him. Din manages to block the attack but loses his grip on his weapon, and when Gideon pulls back the saber, he kicks the spear out of Din’s reach. 

_No_ , Din’s mind screams. _Not like this. Not in front of the kid._

Moff Gideon grins beatifically. “Goodbye, Din Djarin.” 

One second, Din is staring up at the pitch-black blade that will claim his life. The next, it is gone. 

Gideon cries out. Something metallic clangs in the corner of the room. Din turns his head and sees the metal cylinder, blade now vanished, discarded on the opposite side of the cell.

 _Grogu_ , Din realizes. The kid must have plucked the weapon from Moff Gideon’s hands like it was nothing more than his favorite metal ball.

Din uses the distraction to grab Gideon’s ankle and knock him to the ground. Then he rams his helmet against Gideon’s face with all the force he can muster. 

The Moff falls backwards, blood blossoming from his nose and streaming down onto his lips. Din scrambles back onto his feet, grasping for the spear.

Gideon pulls a blaster from his belt and frantically fires. Three shots bounce cleanly off of Din’s chest plate and pauldrons.

For the first time, Gideon’s expression slips, and Din sees the first signs of fear.

“You’ve lost,” Gideon heaves, wiping an arm over his bloody mouth. “He will return.” 

And then he turns the blaster’s aim away from Din. Toward the kid. He pulls the trigger.

“ _No!_ ” Before he’s even aware of the motion, the spear is thrust into the center of Gideon’s chest. It pierces his plastoid chest plate and drives deep into him. Din watches the man gasp, eyes wide in astonishment. Then, like a light gone out, they fade. His body slackens, falls awkwardly to the floor. 

Din drops the spear. “Kid!” He runs for the boy, scoops up his little body in his arms. “No, no, no!”

The kid’s eyes are closed, his skin pale. There’s a hole singed through the middle of his tunic. Din’s shaking hands struggle with his helmet, and somehow he manages to pry it off, dropping it to the floor. He lowers his ear to the kid’s chest.

He can’t tell if the kid is breathing. But Din already knows. He’s too small. He couldn’t have survived a direct hit.

Din falls to his knees. He cradles the child’s body in his arms, rocks him gently. A salty tear slips from Din’s chin onto the kid’s face. He pulls off his glove to brush it away with a calloused thumb.

Then the kid’s ear flickers. His eyelids twitch.

Din freezes for a moment, unable to comprehend how this is possible. He brushes the child’s cheek. The kid’s nose scrunches up. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, shh.”

Grogu’s big eyes blink open slowly. He lets out a quiet trill, staring up at him inquisitively. Din suddenly remembers that his face is exposed. “It’s me, buddy. It’s just me.”

Grogu mews softly. Tiny fingers find Din’s bare hand and clutch tight around his thumb.

“Are you hurt?” Din asks him. He glances again at the hole the shot burned into his tunic. Now he sees that something is glinting beneath it.

Din adjusts the kid’s collar and his finger catches around a familiar cord. His necklace. Moff Gideon’s shot had struck the beskar Mythosaur.

A relieved exhale pours out of him. His shoulders sag, and he leans into the kid, holds him tightly against his chest. Grogu clutches back, making tiny noises that Din is somehow certain he understands.

“It’s okay now,” he assures the child. And he speaks the words he wishes someone had told him, all those years ago, when the Mandalorians plucked him from the battlefield and claimed him as one of their own: “I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed this one! I'm having a lot of feelings about The Believer!


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